


Let Me Call You Sweetheart

by Emma Woodhouse (PKSP)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Episode: s03e14 Alter Ego, Episode: s03e16 Blood Fever, Episode: s03e20 Favorite Son, First Time, Hallucinations, Imagined Suicide, Jefferies Tube sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PKSP/pseuds/Emma%20Woodhouse
Summary: Harry Kim and Tom Paris have a friends with benefits thing going. Harry wants it to be more, and asks some questions that leave Tom thinking Harry wants to settle down with a woman so he can have kids. He breaks up with Harry, so as not to get in his way.Harry, meanwhile, thinks Tom has dumped him because he doesn't want to be tied down. It takes a near-tragic event to bring them back together.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Once again, the characters are Paramount's. But at dead of night, they come out to play, in decidedly non-canonical adventures.
> 
> Warning: For the newcomers - note the markings at the top, NC-17. That means sex. Paris/Kim - that means who. Two cute fellas, sans clothing, no girls - got it?
> 
> Miss Emma is still blowing the dust from her disk drive and uncovering and completing half-finished stories. Here's another one. Yes, it's P/K, but it's not connected to any of my previous P/K stories. We're hitting the reset button and starting all over again, and this story is taking place in mid to latish third season, with spoilers for "Alter Ego," "Blood Fever," and "Favorite Son." (Miss Emma confessed to a certain amount of pride in slashing what are probably the three most hetero episodes in Voyager history...)

"Doctor?" 

"Yes, what is it, Mister Paris?" The Doctor spared only a glance from his computer screen.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

The Doctor looked up again. A longer look. Then he snapped off his computer and leaned back. "You have a medical problem?" 

"Well — no, not really." Tom shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Then what do you want to talk to me about?" 

Tom sat down uninvited in the chair across from the Doctor's desk, and thought for a minute. "Maybe I've got a mental problem." 

"Hmm. And you came to me with it?"

"Yes. Couldn't think of anyone else to talk to. And somehow, since you're a computer program, I just thought it might be easier to talk to you."

"I see." A thoughtful pause. "Well then, please state the nature of the MENTAL emergency."

Tom looked alarmed. "Oh, I wouldn't call it an emergency, exactly. It's just — so weird."

"But I still don't know what the problem is."

"Okay. You know about what happened down on the planet?" Tom looked away. Even if the Doctor wasn't human, this was pretty embarrassing.

"Yes, I've been kept fully briefed. It was a medical issue after all. And I'm pleased to report that Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Vorick have both made a complete recovery."

"Yeah, but—" Another long pause. "I think I've got some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder or something!"

The Doctor's eyebrows went up. Standing, he retrieved a medical tricorder, and rounded the desk. "I'll make a deal with you, Lieutenant. I won't try to fly the ship if you won't start diagnosing."

Tom blushed a little at that. "Okay."

"Now, then. Describe your symptoms, please." The Doctor was scanning Tom as he spoke.

"Okay. This is going to sound silly," Tom warned.

"I'm listening."

"It's just that, for the past couple days, ever since we've gotten back from the planet, I guess, it just feels like everybody is — well, interested in me."

"Define interested."

"Oh, you know. Like they, uh, WANT me! I keep seeing people look at me funny, and it's really getting on my nerves."

"Hmm."

"Well, it's sort of giving me the creeps, but it's got to be my imagination, surely the whole crew isn't lusting after me, so I figured it must be some sort of neurotic fallout from that away mission."

"I see." The Doctor snapped his tricorder shut. "Well, Mister Paris, as the old psychiatric joke says, 'just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you.'"

"Huh?!"

"According to these readings, your body has been producing an unusually high quantity of human pheromones. I'm going to want to run some blood tests. This seems to be the result of being bitten by Lieutenant Torres."

Tom half-rose out of his chair. "Wait a minute! You mean, I'm NOT imagining it?"

"Not at all. For the moment at least, you're catnip."

* * *

Tom set his tray down on the table across from Harry, looking around the mess hall almost furtively. The Doctor said this would wear off in about a week, but in the meanwhile, it was a very disconcerting experience.

And that was surprising. If you'd told him just last year or last week that there was a substance that could make him irresistible, he would have started hoarding his replicator rations in order to buy some. But this wasn't at all like he would have imagined. He felt like — prey.

"Tom?"

Tom jumped, and then slid into his seat. "What, Harry?"

"What the hell's gotten into you lately?"

"What do you mean?" Tom looked at Harry in alarm.

"I mean, why are you so jumpy? I've never seen you act this way before. Is someone mad at you or something?"

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, that's what Harry meant. So he was still safe, anyway.

In fact, Harry was the only person who seemed unaffected by Tom's sudden conversion to 'catnip'. Tom had been spending a lot of time with him the past few days, avoiding the suddenly intent stares of the women, and men, who wouldn't even give him the time of day until a few days ago.

He was glad B'Elanna was keeping busy in Engineering. The craziness on the planet seemed to cause her to want to be super-engineer for a while, which was fine with Tom.

But there was Sue Nicoletti, coming on to him in Sandrine's yesterday, standing as close as a coat of paint. And looking up, Tom saw Sammy Wildman watching him with a mournful, doe-eyed look. Maybe after lunch, he'd stop by Sickbay, have the Doctor run some more readings on him.

Harry was looking worried. Tom looked back at him, and tried to laugh. "Oh, it's nothing, Harry. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime, when things get calmed down again. It's really pretty silly."

"Okay," Harry said doubtfully. "If you're sure everything's all right."

"Oh, sure," Tom said, with a close approximation of his usual jauntiness. "Nothing I can't handle."

* * *

But Tom was starting to wonder, really, if it was something he could handle. The afternoon shift was tense; when he looked behind him, either the Captain or First Officer was staring at him, Chakotay looking slightly worried, and shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Tom thought, if he knew what the problem really was, he'd kill me, that's all. Good thing Doc was being a stickler about medical confidentiality.

Harry noticed it, too. At dinner, he said to Tom, "It's not just you. Everyone is jumpy. I sure wish you'd tell me what's going on."

"Later, Harry!" Tom said desperately.

Tom avoided Sandrine's that night. Stayed in his room, read a book, and went to bed early. But by one a.m., he'd had enough. Gently propelling Crewman Geron out the door, he thought, I can't handle much more of this.

Geron was the third person who'd shown up at Tom's door that night, each with a flimsy excuse, each looking puzzled but hopeful. Making a quick decision, Tom grabbed his robe, and headed down the hall.

"What?" Harry sounded grumpy, woken from a sound sleep. Tom slid past him into the room.

"Hey, Harry, can I sleep on your sofa tonight?"

Harry was starting to wake up a little, and turned to Tom, saying suspiciously, "You really are avoiding someone, aren't you? Who's mad at you this time?"

Tom flopped down on the sofa. "Please, Harry, it's the middle of the night, and a really long story."

"Oh, all right. But one of these days, you're going to tell me what's going on." Harry found a blanket in the closet and slung it in Tom's general direction.

"Sure, Harry, I promise."

Harry stumbled back to bed, and Tom cocooned himself into the blanket, feeling finally secure.

He had just drifted off to sleep when the call wakened him. From the bedroom, first a gasp, then an urgent cry, "Tom!" Tom got groggily to his feet, and headed toward the bedroom, mumbling, "What is it, Harry?"

But he stopped at the door of the bedroom, wondering if he'd dreamed the sound. Because Harry was obviously fast asleep. Tom stood there for a moment, scratching his head, then turned away, but turned back again, at the softly whispered, "Tom." Tom took a few steps forward, looking down at his friend. Harry must be dreaming. But — good lord! — that wasn't all Harry was doing. He was swathed in a blanket, so it took Tom a moment to realize that Harry's hand was between his legs, and moving — Harry was masturbating in his sleep, and saying Tom's name.

Oh, shit, Tom thought, looks like the pheromones got to the kid after all.

He should have gone back to bed, but stood rooted to the spot in voyeuristic fascination. Somehow, he'd just never pictured Harry doing that. Silly, of course, Harry was a grown man after all, but he always seemed like such a boy scout. Boy scout, hell, more like cub scout.

He didn't look like such a kid now, hair tousled and sweaty, panting and softly moaning — Tom felt his own heart rate speed up, entranced at the sight of his best friend, flushed, aroused, and saying HIS name.

Harry's moans became louder, faster, and then he arched his back with a faint scream, and cried out, "Tom, TOM!"

And it was all Tom could do to keep his distance. Beautiful, that's what it was, simply beautiful, and he wanted to reach out now, and hug his beautiful friend, and wipe away — were those tears? 

Tom shook himself sternly, lectured himself not to do any more damage than he'd already done, and backed cautiously out of the room. Returning to the sofa, he wrapped himself back in the blanket and tried to sleep, tried to ignore his own erection and the sound of Harry's soft weeping.

* * *

It was the beer, Harry told himself later. That must have been it.

It was eight days after Tom had spent the night on Harry's sofa, and things seemed to have returned to normal. Neelix returned from his latest trip to the marketplace with a barrel of beer, did some computer research, and decided to hold an Oktoberfest. 

The mess hall was crowded after dinner, and the beer was wonderful, apparently beer was beer across the galaxy, a golden fermentation from surplus grain. Everyone was having a wonderful time.

All the same, it was REAL beer, nothing synthetic about it. And perhaps it was the sight of Neelix in lederhosen that caused Harry and Tom to gulp their beer with incautious haste.

"Whoa," Harry said, at the end of the second one. "That's pretty powerful stuff."

Tom sniffed his mug. "Well, I think it's probably no stronger than earth beer. We're just not used to it. Got our bloodstreams too damn purified, or something."

"Well, whatever. It's really good." Harry poured himself another mug of the stuff. "Okay," he said, sitting back and fixing Tom with a stern look. "Is everything back to normal?"

Tom thought about it for a moment. "I think so."

"And you were going to tell me what was going on, remember?"

"Oh — yeah. I was, wasn't I?" Tom hesitated, and then poured himself another. "This is really stupid, Harry, and you probably won't even believe me, but you can check with the Doctor if you want—"

And he proceeded to tell Harry about his enhanced pheromones, and becoming the object of desire for virtually the entire crew. Harry started snickering half-way through the story, and poured another beer.

"—so then I sought refuge in your quarters, since you seemed to be the only person unaffected," Tom said, two beers later. He left out the business with the dream, hoping that Harry hadn't remembered it when he woke up.

Harry looked at Tom for a moment, and then started laughing.

He put his head down on the table and howled.

Tom smiled at first, at Harry's amusement, but his smile faded as he caught the tinge of hysteria in Harry's laugh.

"Harry? Hey?"

Finally Harry lifted his head, and smiled at Tom, and it was one of the scariest smiles Tom had ever seen. "Well, of COURSE I was unaffected," Harry finally managed to say. "After all, there isn't a substance in the galaxy that could make me want you more than I already do."

Tom set his beer mug down slowly and carefully.

"Those other people would have been a lot better at hiding it," Harry went on, "if they'd had as much practice as I...."

Silence fell, as Harry's brain finally caught up with his mouth.

Then he stopped laughed and sat up carefully. "I didn't say that," he said distinctly. "I did NOT. And you didn't hear it."

And he got up and left quickly.

* * *

Harry was relieved at breakfast the next morning, to see Tom behaving perfectly naturally, as if Harry really hadn't said anything. Well, they'd both had a lot of beer, so maybe Tom didn't even remember it.

It was a slow watch, and Harry spent his spare moments thinking back, remembering, wondering how he could have fallen so hard before he even realized it.

Except for his lapse into confession yesterday, it was his best-kept secret. Even when he'd gone to Tuvok, looking for advice on stifling love, he hadn't been perfectly honest, hadn't admitted that he spent hours with Marayna on the holodeck talking about Tom. Unaware that she was more than a holoprogram, he'd spilled his guts to her, and she'd listened and nodded, and tried to give him good advice. 

Marayna seemed to agree with Harry that this particular passion should be quenched. Now, of course, from what he'd heard from Tuvok about the alien masquerading as a holodeck entertainer, Harry realized that the Marayna creature had her own emotional problems, her own belief in pushing people away. But she had told him that he should fight this feeling, and find someone who could help him, and then he'd gone to Tuvok.

But Tuvok's advice hadn't helped, because what Harry was dealing with wasn't really a love at first sight scenario at all. That's what he'd experienced with Libby, a first look, a primitive, visceral response, before he'd even gotten to know her. He liked to think that if Libby had turned out to be a dolt or a witch, he wouldn't have continued to feel those feelings, but he knew for a fact that his first reaction had been entirely hormonal.

Tom was different. Tom was his friend first. Harry couldn't even remember the first time he'd thought about touching him, the first time Tom's arm around his shoulder felt better than it should have, the first time he'd wanted to whisper — stay with me always. 

But Harry never said anything, never would say anything, at least not when in control of his faculties. Because he'd been watching Tom for over two years now, watched him date Megan, and try to impress Sue, and flirt with B'Elanna — and never once in those two years had Tom ever looked at a man the way he looked at women. It was pretty obvious to Harry that Tom was a hundred percent hetero, and if he let Tom know what he was thinking, it would probably damage the friendship, and the friendship was what was really important. Not sex, however much he wanted to touch Tom and kiss Tom, the friendship, the love, had to be preserved.

* * *

Well, now that Tom knew what to look for, he couldn't believe he'd missed it before. It made him feel kind of bad, how little he knew about his best friend. That shy smile, and the suddenly downcast eyes — Harry didn't look at anyone else on the ship like that, just Tom. Just the person he wanted.

How long had this been going on? And how long would Tom have continued to be a self-absorbed, unobservant pig, if the beer hadn't loosened Harry's tongue?

And — what should Tom do about it?

Obviously, the poor kid was horny. It had been a hell of a long time since they'd left the Alpha Quadrant, after all, and if Harry'd gotten any since then, it sure hadn't been much.

Tom considered fixing Harry up with someone. He'd been less than successful in the past at fixing Harry up. But now that he thought about it, no wonder. He'd been trying to get Harry matched up with the kind of girls he liked himself, fun-loving and kind of wild — not Harry's type at all. He'd do better this time.

He ran over the crew roster mentally. There was Sue Nicoletti, Tom had pretty much given up on her, and she was serious and musical. Sammy Wildman was sweet, and scientific. Came with a ready-made family, of course, but Harry liked the baby. Or for that matter, considering Harry's current interest, what about Geron? And really, how do you go about fixing someone up, especially when they're really interested in you?

Tom pondered this question for days, in his off hours, letting nothing show on his usual cheerful countenance. And he'd just about settled on Geron, when Geron suddenly moved in with Ayalla. Well, shit.

Tom wondered what they did together. He'd tried to imagine Geron with Harry, wondering if what two guys did could be as much fun as a guy with a girl. He even looked in the computer files, under sexual practices. Good lord! — there were pictures!

And lately, Tom couldn't keep the image out of his mind, that dreaming orgasm of Harry's, how beautiful it had been. And he was starting to think — he'd like to see that again.

And then, late one night, trying to sleep, it occurred to Tom — after all, why NOT?

Harry was his best friend, closer to Tom than anyone else on the ship. So why not give him what he wants? — it would probably be a hell of a lot of fun. Just thinking about it was making him hard, the idea of kissing those sweet, full lips, running his fingers through that soft, shiny hair.

Tom told himself virtuously that it would be good for Harry, and make Harry feel so much better.

So the next day, after dinner, Tom went to Harry's quarters and rang the buzzer.

"Come in," Harry said absently.

He was seated at his desk when Tom breezed in, and turned around and smiled at his best friend. Tom was smiling broadly, and Harry wondered what new scheme he had in mind.

"Hey, Harry, I've got a great idea!"

Harry folded his arms and leaned back skeptically. "I'm listening."

"Let's fool around!"


	2. Part II

Tom was surprised at the flare of hurt in Harry's eyes. But then Harry looked down at the floor and muttered, "Very funny." 

"Hey! I mean it, Harry!"

And Tom pulled his friend out of the chair and into his arms. He enjoyed Harry's look of astonishment for the briefest instant before he kissed him. Hey, this really felt good! After a moment of stiff resistance, Harry absolutely melted in his arms, and their lips met again and again.

Tom was fascinated by the feeling, holding a strong, broad-shouldered young man in his arms. Why had this never occurred to him before? After a moment, he pulled his head back to smile into Harry's eyes. "So, what do you say?"

Harry's eyes were huge, and there was no mistaking the desire in them. "But Tom — why?"

"Why? What do you mean, why? Because you're my best friend. Shouldn't friends help one another out?"

"Yes, but — isn't this sort of extreme?"

Tom's fingers were twined in Harry's hair, gently caressing the back of his neck. "Hey, I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't want to do this. You think I'm a saint or something? Come on, Harry, it'll be fun."

"Well, maybe fun, but—"

But Tom didn't come here to talk. Apparently his handsome young friend wanted to be swept off his feet. Well, all right, then! He attacked Harry's lips again, and chuckled to hear the soft moan in response.

Still kissing, he maneuvered them toward the bed, until they fell onto it together. Harry chuckled as Tom landed on top of him, and then moaned as he felt Tom's tongue slide into his mouth. They were kissing frantically now, and it was even better than Harry ever imagined it could be. After a few moments, though, Harry wriggled out of Tom's arms and sat up.

"But Tom, the thing is—" He stopped, and looked away, blushing.

"What?" Tom protested. "Don't tell me you don't want to!" He grinned, and reached for Harry's crotch, stroking gently. "Because I won't believe you," he added softly.

Harry gasped at the feel of Tom's hand on his rock-hard erection, and said faintly, "Oh, I want to, but the truth is — I really don't know how."

"Oh!" Tom sat up. "Well then, it's a good thing I came along, isn't it? Because I've done my research."

Tom got off the bed and vanished into the bathroom. Harry sat silently, in a turmoil of confused emotions, listening to Tom clatter around in his bathroom. Finally, he heard a faint, "Aha!" and Tom came back out, triumphantly carrying a jar of massage oil.

Rejoining Harry on the bed, Tom asked curiously, "You've really never done this before?"

"Really," Harry said.

"Well, neither have I," Tom admitted.

Harry was surprised. "Oh! I guess I'd always thought you'd tried everything."

"Not yet," Tom said. "But I did look it up in the computer, and now I'm fully briefed."

Harry fell back on the bed and started laughing.

"Hey!" Tom said, offended, "One of us should know what he's doing!"

Then he smiled down at Harry, who was smiling up at him with eyes shining with desire. Harry's hand moved up Tom's chest sensuously, and Harry whispered, "I'm willing to learn."

And they were kissing again.

After another lengthy interval, Tom pulled away, panting, and suggested, "I'm told this works better with the clothes off."

"Yeah, I'd heard that, too," Harry said.

After a moment of paralysing shyness, the two men lunged at one another, in a frantic haste to get the other's clothes off. And then they were naked, giggling in each other's arms, and rolling on the bed.

Finally Tom managed to pin Harry beneath him, and straddled him, leaning down until his penis rubbed against Harry's. "You like that?" he whispered, moving back and forth gently.

Harry couldn't even answer him, he could only moan and move against Tom. Tom was enjoying this more than anything he could remember, entranced by Harry's beautiful abandon, loving the feeling of his friend's soft skin, the sound of his yearning. Tom plastered himself onto Harry's body, trying to completely merge with him, and they were moving faster now, kissing and gasping and crying out, until Harry threw back his head and howled helplessly, and Tom felt the spurting on his belly, and he was lost too.

Finally, they rested together, holding each other tightly and panting. Tom began to kiss and lick Harry's throat and chest, and Harry chuckled softly.

"What?"

"Oh, somehow I just knew you'd be good."

Tom attacked Harry's ear with his tongue, and then whispered, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

"Oh?" Harry smiled. It was a tantalizing promise.

"Didn't I tell you I've done my research? Time for a field test." Then softly, right in Harry's ear, "I'm going to fuck you."

Harry shuddered deliciously, and managed to say, "All right."

And then another long interval of kissing and stroking. Soon, both men were hard again, and Tom whispered, "Roll over, Harry."

Harry rolled over onto his stomach, and felt Tom stroking his back, down his hips and ass, and then delicate fingers were caressing the tight entrance to his body. Oh, this was wonderful!

Tom was nibbling on the back of his neck and shoulders, and an errant finger slipped into Harry's anus, causing him to buck with surprise.

"Umm?" Tom asked.

"Don't stop!" Harry pleaded.

"Oh, I don't think I could stop, buddy," Tom admitted.

"You're just too — tempting." Tom kissed Harry lightly on the ass, and then Harry felt the slickness of oil, and the finger entered again. He squirmed against it.

"How does that feel?" Tom asked.

"I — don't know. Interesting," Harry admitted.

The finger pressed more deeply, turned and probed, and Tom said, "There's supposed to be a spot—"

Tom laughed softly as Harry gasped and said, "OH!"

"There it is," he said triumphantly. "Okay, then."

Now two fingers were teasing inside Harry, and Harry was almost out of his mind, writhing against the intrusion, and he was hard now, as hard as he'd ever been in his life, and this was absolutely driving him crazy, and three fingers were there now — and then there were none.

"TOM!" he wailed sadly.

"Take it easy, buddy," Tom said, sounding rather breathless himself. Now Tom was moving from Harry's side to behind him, and he said, "Hang on, here I come," as he pushed his way gently into his friend's body.

Tom had never felt anything even remotely like this, and he had to bite his lip hard to control himself. But he was determined not to lose control, the articles said it could really hurt, especially the first time, and he wouldn't hurt Harry for anything in the galaxy.

But Harry sure didn't look like he was hurting, as Tom slowly entered him, he looked like he was enjoying it thoroughly, and Tom was so happy that he could please his friend, and it was, oh, so tight, and so hot, and Harry was so beautiful he could hardly stand it. He was actually in now, all the way in, and Tom felt a profound sense of accomplishment. This wasn't a conquest or a flirtation, this was Harry, his friend, and he was giving him pleasure, and it was perfect, perfect, he was moving now, and Harry was moving with him, and Tom wasn't thinking anymore now, but leaned down to gently nip Harry's neck as he thrust into him deeper and harder, making some sort of unidentifiable sound, until he was lost, totally lost, inside Harry.

Thoroughly spent, Tom rested on Harry's broad back, gently licking his friend's shoulders. Harry moaned, and Tom realised that he wasn't finished yet.

So he moved off of Harry, and rolled him over, pulling him into his arms. Harry leaned back against him, helpless, and Tom leaned down to kiss his lips and his hand moved down to Harry's erection, and he took it and began to move gently.

"Oh — god — please — Tom !"

He smiled down at Harry, and continued his stroking, increasing his speed gradually, so gradually, watching Harry's eyes, as Harry looked up at him, not smiling anymore, but with an intense, urgent expression that might even have been mistaken for pain. Tom was excited, thrilled, he was going to get to see it again, and know he'd been the cause.

He speeded up his hand, and Harry was pressing against him desperately, unable to say anything but, "Tom — Tom, oh please — TOM!"

And then he was coming, throwing back his head and screaming, and Tom didn't stop until he was sure he'd milked every drop. Then he stretched out beside his exhausted friend, and kissed him deeply. Harry lay back on the bed, drained and exhausted, and had a vague realization that Tom had left his side. But in a few moments, Tom was back, gently cleaning him with a damp towel, tsking in wonder, "Why, Ensign Kim, however did you get in such a state as this?"

Harry just accepted it with loving passivity, Tom's hands felt so wonderful moving over him, and then he opened his eyes and looked up, and Tom was cleaning himself off and grinning down at him.

"I think that was a fairly successful field test, wouldn't you say?" Tom asked.

"Flying colors," Harry said weakly.

But now Tom was tucking Harry gently under the covers and getting dressed.

"Tom? Where are you going?"

"Hey, I've got to get to bed, Harry, it's late."

"Oh, but—" Harry didn't know what to say.

Tom sat down beside Harry and stroked his hair back from his forehead. "Early shift tomorrow, buddy, remember?" He leaned down and kissed Harry gently on the lips. "Hey, let's do this again, okay?"

"Sure," Harry said, confused.

And then Tom was gone.

Harry lay alone in his bed, trying to think, too exhausted to think. It had been everything he wanted, it hadn't been nearly enough.

Harry slept. And dreamed. A beautiful dream.

* * *

.... The old, old man slept softly in the bed, seeming dwarfed by its immensity, though he'd been a big man once. The sheet that covered him barely moved from his frail old breaths.

Harry sat in a chair beside the bed. He wasn't going to sleep yet. Not yet. Somehow, he knew it would be tonight, and he didn't want to miss it.

He ached. Nothing specific, nothing that the doctors could pin down, but he ached. He was old, too.

He stood up from the chair with difficulty, and went over to the cabinet, finding the vial he'd purchased at great price and moving it to the bedside table. Everything was ready now. He was ready. The old man had smiled at him an hour ago, before he'd drifted off to sleep, the faded blue eyes looking up at him with all the emotion of the decades together, and Harry had kissed him gently, one last kiss that he would remember.

And now he just waited.

The sheet rose slightly, and then fell — and then didn't rise again. With absolute certainty, Harry knew that was the last. The gallant old heart had finally worn out. He moved over to the bed, and leaned down, taking the parchment frail hand, and feeling at the wrist. Nothing. He leaned over to the mouth and nose.

Silence. He put his head on the chest that had pillowed him for almost a century. And it was silent.

Harry felt happy tonight. Everything would be fine. Kicking off his slippers, he lifted the sheet, and slipped into the bed. He leaned down, and kissed those lips one last time, the final kiss of the thousands, hundreds of thousands, they had shared in their lives. The lips didn't respond, but he didn't expect them to.

And now he took the vial, which he'd purchased in preparation for this day, and drank the contents. With a weary sigh, he put his head on the now-silent chest, and closed his eyes. Scientist that he was, he couldn't help measuring the gradual slowing of his own heart. "Wait for me, Tom," he whispered. "I'll be right there."

His last thought was a sense of satisfaction. He'd done all the preparations, and knew that he and Tom would be buried together, in the same casket. Together forever....

* * *

Harry woke up, crying. He sat up in the bed for a moment, realizing he was alone. And remembered the dream. The two old men. Oh god, if only—!

* * *

Harry sat in alone at a table in the mess hall, picking at his breakfast, and thinking. He wished now that they'd never done it, that he still only guessed how wonderful it would be, instead of actually knowing for sure.

Because he wondered if he could continue on this way, knowing that he was making love while Tom was having fun.

Oh, it wasn't Tom's fault, of course. He'd never told Tom how he really felt, just that he wanted him. And Tom thought he was giving Harry everything that he wanted.

But even if it wasn't everything, even if it wasn't quite enough — could he say no, tell Tom they weren't going to do that anymore? 

He ought to, he really should. Because touching Tom only made Harry love him more, and it would hurt more later, when it ended. His mind made up, Harry looked up, to see Tom approaching with his tray.

"Morning, Harry!" Tom smiled affectionately at his friend. Harry was looking rather blue. Morning after regrets? Tom leaned across the table, and said softly, "Hey, I still respect you, if that's what you're worried about."

Harry chuckled, but glanced around to ensure no one was within earshot.

Tom tackled his breakfast with gusto, and said, "You know, I've been thinking."

"Me, too," Harry admitted, but then faltered into silence at the blaze from Tom's eyes.

"And I've decided that next time, you're going to fuck me," Tom finished.

Harry's resolutions crumbled into powder and blew away.

"Okay," he said faintly.


	3. Part III

The Voyager quarterly pool tournament was at Sandrine's that night. Harry had been looking forward to it. Not that he actually expected to beat Tom. But he had been getting better, and thought that at least he wouldn't embarrass himself too badly.

That's what he thought, anyway.

But while he was chalking his cue, Tom slid up beside him, and murmured in his ear, "How about tomorrow, Harry? Want to do me tomorrow?"

Observers would have been forgiven for thinking that Ensign Kim had never held a pool cue in his life.

B'Elanna Torres was one of those observers, and she was not amused. Going over to the bar, she snapped, "Very funny, Paris."

"Huh?" Tom was bewildered.

"What did you say to him? Are you starting to think he might win, so you have to play some kind of low-down mind game?"

Tom choked on his beer, and protested, "No, B'Elanna — I just mentioned ... a private joke."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

After B'Elanna had stalked off, Tom settled back to watch Harry's dismal performance in the tournament. It really was kind of funny, he thought. And also — sort of touching. He's all flustered, Tom thought, because he's thinking about fucking me. He's going to fuck me. Tomorrow.

Tom's performance was almost as abysmal as Harry's.

* * *

Duty shift the next day lasted about a thousand years.

Tom ate dinner in abstracted silence. When he got off duty, he stopped by the Ops station, but Harry had said, "I've got some things to wrap up, Tom. Why don't you come by around 1900?" And Tom had said sure, and now just had a few more hours to kill.

He wondered what it was going to be like. Harry sure seemed to enjoy it. Tom tried not to shiver with excitement. Finally he gave up on trying to eat, and wandered back to his quarters. After thinking about it for a few minutes, he changed into civilian clothes, choosing dark blue pants and a light blue shirt. A lot of women had told him that he looked good in blue. But he picked these out mainly because they would be easy to take off.

Good thing the pants were rather baggy, because he already had an erection.

Finally, Tom was buzzing at Harry's door.

And the door opened and he was pulled into Harry's arms.

The two men held one another close, kissing, until Harry started to giggle.

"What?"

"Oh, I just wanted to kill Tuvok today!"

"Our sweet young ensign wants to kill harmless old Tuvok? Why? What did he do?"

"He was just THERE all the time!" Harry led Tom over to the bed and pushed him down. "And I'd remembered what you'd said about looking this stuff up in the computer, so I wanted to check the computer files, but he was on an absolute tear about the sensor arrays, and I had to keep escaping out of the file — finally I went down to the Ops library and locked myself in."

Tom had kicked off his shoes, and now lay back on the bed and laughed. "Harry Kim is accessing the sex files on duty?! I think I'm a bad influence!"

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Harry purred, and then pounced.

They kissed for a long time, gradually shedding items of clothing, until all the clothes were carelessly piled on the floor and they were entirely naked. Harry was so hot and excited, and Tom's hand fastened onto his erection and almost sent him off. He tried to squirm away. "Tom, no!"

Tom wasn't about to let go. "No? Are you kidding?"

"Tom," Harry pleaded between gasps, "if you don't let go, I'll come any second now!"

Tom continued his stroking. "That's the idea, Harry."

"But I thought... I wanted..."

"Yes?" Tom was smiling tenderly into Harry's eyes. "What do you want, Ensign?"

Breathlessly, "You know what I want."

"Yes, but I want to hear you say it."

Almost inaudible — "I want to fuck you, Tom."

"And you will, Harry." Tom leaned down and kissed Harry deeply, continuing his steady rhythm. "All in good time. But let's take the edge off first."

Panting, "What.. do you mean..?"

"I mean that if you fucked me right now, you'd come in about a second. I don't want it to be over so quick." Tom was stroking harder now, and leaned down to whisper in Harry's ear. "I want you in me for a long, lonnnnnng time—"

And that did it. Harry arched his back and came screaming. Tom continued his pumping, watching his best friend's face with fascination. Finally Harry collapsed, and Tom was on top of him, kissing him. "How was that?" he asked softly.

"Oh, man, Tom!" Harry finally gasped. "You feel so good, it ought to be ILLEGAL!"

"Registered as a deadly weapon," Tom murmured, and then moved down Harry's body, kissing and licking. He soon had Harry as hard as ever. Tom himself had been erect since leaving his own quarters. He couldn't recall a time when he'd been so excited, this was the most fun he'd ever had in his life. Finally, he raised his head, and said, "Well, what do you think?"

"Let's do it!" Harry said decisively. So Tom rolled over onto his stomach.

As Harry began to caress his back, Tom thought how strange this was, and outside any of his experience. He really couldn't do anything in this maneuver, just spread his legs and accept it. Oh, the kid was good, he thought with wonder, feeling Harry's lips and tongue on his shoulders, his throat, down his spine.

The passive role was new to Tom, and it surprised him how enjoyable it was, not to have to be in charge, not to worry about being 'good'. Sure sounded like Harry was enjoying himself, too. Now he felt an oily finger slip inside him and began to probe, and he realized that there was something he could do, anyway — he could moan.

"Oh, Harry! Oh, yes! That feels — OH!"

A chuckle from behind him. "Like that, huh?"

"Oh, you bet... Harry!"

More fingers. It was tight, and just a bit painful, but oh, glorious — Tom pushed back against Harry's hand impatiently, silently asking for more, deeper — and he whimpered with disappointment when the hand was withdrawn. "Harry—!"

And then he felt Harry moving, and something was entering him, and he felt so full, and warm, and just knowing that it was Harry filling him made him want to cry. "Yes," he whispered.

Harry was thrusting now, first slowly, then faster, deeper, harder, and Tom was pushing back against him, making some sort of sound, but he didn't know if he was actually saying anything or not. Oh, the feeling, the warm tingling, and Harry's lips were on his shoulder now, and he was panting, and he was saying something too, about love, and mine, and all Tom could say was "Yes!"

Tom was coiled tighter than a spring, and tighter still, until the tension finally became unbearable, and he came explosively with a loud wail. Through the pounding in his ears, Harry heard Tom's wail, and the contractions of Tom's orgasm triggered his own, and he cried out triumphantly, in harmonic unison with his lover, before finally collapsing on his back.

After a moment, Tom said breathlessly, "Not bad, for a beginner."

"You're too kind."

Harry moved off of Tom and Tom rolled over and pulled Harry back on top of him. He kissed Harry hard, and said, "You know the way I am, don't you? Seriously, that was — the best ever."

Harry was touched that Tom felt the need to explain his flippancy, as if Harry might misunderstand and get his feelings hurt. He said softly, "Sure, Tom — I know the way you are. And it suits me just fine."

They kissed for a long time before falling asleep.

Tom woke up in the middle of the night. He looked around the room, intending to slip out of the bed in order to return to his own quarters. But Harry was sprawled across him, and there was no way to get up without waking him. Tom drifted back to sleep, hoping that Harry wouldn't mind.

The next thing he heard was the morning alarm. Lifting his hear, he saw that he was curled up on his side, with Harry spooned up against his chest. His arms were around Harry, who was gently stroking his hands.

"Oh, hey."

"Morning, Tom," Harry said, lifting one hand for a kiss.

"Whoops," Tom said. "I guess I fell asleep, huh?"

"Sure looks that way." Harry sat up and turned and smiled at Tom.

"Sorry."

"What for?" Harry was honestly perplexed. "Tom, haven't you ever spent the night with anyone?"

"Not for a long time," Tom admitted.

"Whyever not?"

"I've been told I'm not good company when I'm asleep," Tom finally admitted. "That I'm a sprawler. And a restless sleeper."

After a long pause, he added sheepishly, "And a blanket hog."

"Well, none of that's true," Harry said indignantly. "You're a cuddler and a snuggler, and whoever told you that stuff should be ashamed of herself!"

Harry got out of bed, scratching his hair, which was going in every direction. He looked down at himself, and then over at Tom, and laughed. "We need to remember to clean up before we fall asleep, Tom — we really look disreputable this morning." And he headed off to the shower.

Tom sat on the side of the bed, thinking. He'd fallen asleep in Harry's bed, and Harry hadn't minded at all. The kid was just so — generous!

He was still in a state of awe over what had happened last night. He never would have believed that a man could come from being penetrated, in fact, his computer research told him that was really rare. Maybe because it was Harry, sweet, generous Harry. One thing Tom knew for sure. He wanted to do that again!

* * *

The affair between Tom and Harry continued for several weeks, on the sly. Both men were still too uncertain about what was actually going on to want to make the relationship public. But somehow, roughly every other day, Tom would wind up in Harry's quarters, and they would look at one another and know — tonight we're not playing and listening to music, or talking and gossiping — and without a word they would move into one another's arms for a deep and passionate kiss.

Sometimes, Tom would stay the night.

Tom spent a lot of time wondering — why was it so much better with Harry? Was the kid just naturally talented? Or was it because they were such good friends? Tom could relax completely and enjoy himself thoroughly, without trying to impress Harry or put on some sort of act. Harry already liked him, that's what was so sweet about it. From the beginning, it had seemed amazing to Tom that Harry had chosen HIM to be his best friend. Sometimes, now, Tom would look across the mess hall table at Harry, and feel so happy that he felt a lump in his throat, almost like he wanted to cry. It was all so weird.

* * *

Harry tried not to think about where this was going. He knew he was acting against his own cautious character now, trying to live for the moment. But sometimes, he was afraid that the moment would be all that he had. But then there were other times. When he would look up suddenly to see Tom looking at him, and there would be such tenderness in Tom's eyes. Or was he only seeing what he wanted to see? How much did Tom care? How permanent was this?

The urge to ask was becoming overwhelming.

Right now Harry was sitting at a table overlooking the beach. He was watching Sammy Wildman out there, windsurfing, thinking admiringly that she was better at it that he ever would be. Naomi sat in her baby carrier on the table, and now she was gurgling for his attention.

Harry turned back to Naomi and grinned at her. He grabbed her feet, and begin lifting them in sequence, saying foolishly, "Yubba-dubba-doo. A dubba-DOO!"

Naomi crowed with delight and clapped her hands.

"You've got such a way with women, Harry."

Harry turned and grinned at Tom, who had just entered.

"Babies are fun," he said, "because you can act like a total idiot and figure they won't remember it when they're older."

Tom slid into a chair at the table. "Oh, you're just an old softie." But he was scratching Naomi's upper horn as he spoke. Wet bare footsteps sounded on the steps, and Ensign Wildman rounded the corner. "ExHILarating!" she said. "Thanks for watching Naomi for me, Har."

"No problem," Harry assured her. "I watched her, she watched me, it all worked out."

Sammy scooped up Naomi and departed, and the two men were left alone with their Rikari Starbursts. Harry took a sip, and glanced over at Tom, who was staring out across the water, looking strangely peaceful.

Maybe this was a mistake, but — "Tom?"

Tom turned back toward him, "Yeah, Harry?"

"I've been wondering. What do you want? I mean — in general. In the long run."

Tom was taken aback by the question. He thought for a minute, and then said, almost as if he were surprised himself, "Nothing. There's nothing I want that I don't already have. As far as I'm concerned, I would just like everything to stay the way it is now. Maybe that's selfish of me. I know everyone wants to get home. But — Oh well. Why, Harry? What do you want?"

Harry was regretting this. They'd gotten down to brass tacks way too quickly, and he wasn't sure how to put it. Finally, he said, "I guess I don't like the loose-end feeling. I want to settle down. You know, have a family, stability—"

He looked sideways at Tom, hopefully. But Tom's reaction was not what he'd been hoping for. Tom jerked his head back, almost as if reacting to a slap, and his eyes widened. Then he looked back out to the ersatz ocean.

There was a long silence. Finally Tom spoke. "I get it. Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to get in the way. You should have said something sooner."

"Tom—"

But Tom raised his hand, and Harry stopped. "It's alright, Harry. I mean, it's been fun, but if it's getting in the way of your plans, you'd better get on with your life, right?" 

"Right," Harry said faintly, as Tom stood and left the resort. Well. He'd wanted to know. And now he knew.

* * *

Tom stood in the corridor, his back to holodeck one. It was too early to go to bed. So he went to the next door and activated the computer. "Run program Paris One."

The door swooped open, and he entered Sandrine's. "Computer, delete characters."

As he began racking the billiard balls, a soft feminine voice said, "You play alone, Thomas."

Sandrine. He'd forgotten. The delete command didn't delete Sandrine. He'd always had a soft spot for Sandrine, and coded the holoprogram so that the way to delete Sandrine was a polite request for her to allow you some privacy.

So he turned to the holographic French barkeep, and said, "Sandrine, if you don't mind—" and stopped. She cocked her head quizzically and waited. Finally, Tom gave a short laugh, and turned back to the table. "Yes, I play alone, Sandrine. I've just been dumped."

"Incredible!"

"What? Incredible that the irresistible Tom Paris could be dumped? I may have programmed you with too high an opinion of me." 

"No, cheri. I mean incredible that you stayed with one long enough to be 'dumped'." (She pronounced it 'domped', which would have amused him if he'd been in a better mood.)

"Oh, come on, am I that bad?"

"That uninterested, perhaps. That young. That unsure of what you want?"

Tom began knock balls into pockets almost savagely. He laughed and said, "Well, I know what he wants, anyway. A Family." He turned to Sandrine, and even the hologram took a step backwards, as he waved the pool cue wildly. "What the fuck am I supposed to do — have a BABY?!"


	4. Part IV

And everything was back to the way it had been before. For the most part. 

Harry was relieved to realize that no one else on the ship noticed anything. They hadn't seemed aware at the time the affair with Tom was going on, and they seemed unaware now that the breakup had occurred. He was glad he could lick his wounds in private. 

Tom was still his best friend, and Harry was thankful that hadn't changed. So he hadn't lost everything. But Tom didn't touch him anymore. Not even that fraternal arm around the shoulder that had once been so cherished, and so exquisitely painful. And sometimes he saw Tom looking at him with that tender look that he had briefly and disastrously mistaken for love. He realized now that it must indicate merely friendship, and wished there was some way he could take back that conversation. But it was too late now.

* * *

"Here's where the warp-mix equation gets factored into the calculation." Tom was at a table in the resort, tutoring Crewman Geron on Warp Mechanics. Geron nodded silently, and bent over the PADD, biting his lip in concentration. 

Tom leaned back in the chair and looked around, seeing that Harry and B'Elanna were over at the bar, drinking something from coconuts adorned with little paper parasols. He wondered about that. Harry and B'Elanna? And the kid looking for stability? He would have counselled against it, but of course, it was none of his business.

* * *

B'Elanna had been watching Tom working with Geron, and turned to Harry. "Harry, is it my imagination, or is Tom actually growing up a little?" "Huh? What do you mean?" 

"Oh, I can't put my finger on it. He just seems more — responsible or something." 

"Come on, B'Elanna," Harry protested, "Tom's always been responsible where it really mattered." 

"I know that. It's just — well, look at him now, over there helping Geron with his studies instead of trying to chase three women at once." 

Harry nodded. "Well, that's a point, I guess." 

"Who's he after these days?" B'Elanna asked. 

"I don't know," Harry said uncomfortably. He didn't know. And it bothered him. 

"Oh, come ON, Harry!" "No, really, B'Elanna. That's the truth. In fact, as far as I know, he's not after anyone." 

"Weird!" B'Elanna marvelled. "Maybe he's coming down with something." 

Harry cracked up. 

"No, seriously. Hasn't he seemed... kind of quiet and thoughtful lately?" 

"I hadn't really noticed."

* * *

Tom was checking over Geron's work. The kid was smart, he just hadn't had the Academy education. Tom pointed out two minor errors, and explained where Geron had gone wrong, as the teenager listened intently. A shadow caused them to look up. Ayalla had arrived, as silent as usual. "Ready?" the big Maquis asked. 

Geron nodded with a shy smile, whispered a thanks to Tom, gathered up his work and left. 

Tom watched them depart, a slight smile on his lips. What a pair! Both of them so quiet, they probably could spend the evening together and never say a word. But their devotion to one another was obvious. 

He swivelled his chair toward the ocean, troubled by this train of thought. There was that sullen teenager, who had somehow managed to attract someone who liked him just the way he was, and they planned to spend their lives together. 

Meanwhile, Tom Paris is pushing thirty... 

Even before the accident, he'd been the type for a good time, not the sort that anyone wanted to take home to meet their mother. Maybe this was why. Maybe he'd always subconsciously known that he wasn't the type people wanted around forever, so he'd better do the leaving or wind up getting left. 

He had a vision of himself in thirty years, telling tall tales to Harry's grandchildren, the eccentric old bachelor who somehow never got caught. 

Get a grip, Paris! Tom shook himself briskly, and sauntered over to the bar, challenging Harry and B'Elanna to a game of pool. Nothing had changed, he told himself, everything's the same, and that's okay.

* * *

Just fly the ship, Paris. Tom couldn't recall when he'd ever been this angry. But screaming on the bridge was probably not a good idea. He didn't need to get relieved of duty right now, Voyager needed their best pilot to get through this force field. 

Man, he just couldn't believe they'd all fallen for it! Harry an alien! It had felt wrong to him from the beginning, despite the apparent conclusiveness of the DNA evidence. Tom tried to imagine what would have happened if he'd stomped into the briefing room, and interrupted the Captain, First Officer, and Doctor, putting his extensive kissing history against the medical evidence. "Captain," he should have said, "I don't care what the DNA scans say, Harry TASTES human!" 

But everyone had bought the story. And Harry even seemed to like the idea. The idea that he was an alien, that he belonged with these people, all these fawning, welcoming women. That welcoming committee down on the planet, it had all hit Tom hard, realizing that Harry could stay here if he wanted, and Harry did say he wanted to settle down. 

But on Voyager, Tom had wanted to shout, you're supposed to settle down on VOYAGER, you can't just leave us like this, you can't leave ME! 

And now it turned out that the whole story had been a lie, Harry really was human, and now there was a shield between Voyager and the planet, and those bitches were trying to keep them from getting Harry back. Tom looked over his console, remembering that Harry had routed phaser control from the Tactical station to Ops, wondering how he had done that. He'd never been this angry before, never felt such a primitive urge to lay waste to an entire planet— 

But here we go — and now they were through the shield, and Tom wanted to shout, take that, you hell-harpies! And the scanners were searching for a human lifesign, and within minutes — Harry was back on the bridge. 

Tom bit his lip, hard, and turned back to the viewscreen, managing to keep from bursting into tears of relief by a sheer act of will.

* * *

Down in the mess hall, Harry was explaining to Tom and Neelix the seductive allure of the alien birth theory. The charm of being different, and special. After Neelix went back to work, Tom said, "I don't see what's so bad about being you." He wondered if it would make Harry feel better about being himself if Tom would fall down on the floor and kiss his feet. 

Better not. It'd probably scare the kid out of his wits. It'd sure be fun, though. 

So Tom had to make do with cataloging Harry's virtues, the ones that made him Tom's role model. Better not mention the virtues he was thinking about, the feel of his golden skin, his silky hair running between your fingers, the firm, full, warm lips. Not yet, anyway. 

Harry wished the corridor was at least a mile long. Because Tom had his arm around Harry's shoulders. Finally. He schooled his features to nonchalance, sternly ignoring the compulsion to turn his head and kiss the hand that rested on his shoulder. 

Now they were at Harry's quarters, and Tom came in with Harry and flung himself on the sofa. It was just like old times, Harry thought. But it wasn't. 

Because after a few trivial comments, Tom suddenly was on his feet again, approaching Harry with a look of determination on his face. "Look, Harry," Tom said. "No strings and no commitments, okay, but let's just—" 

And he pulled Harry into his arms and kissed him. Harry felt his knees weaken. Oh, he'd forgotten how wonderful this felt! But he protested, "Tom—" 

Tom pressed Harry's face to his neck, stroking the black silky hair as he whispered, "Please, Harry. You're not involved with anyone right now, and neither am I. Why don't we just keep one another company — you know, while we're looking, huh?" 

Harry couldn't help himself, he was nibbled at Tom's throat, while the rational part of his brain was screaming, 'Bad idea, bad idea!', but it was getting fainter and fainter. 

Tom held Harry's body pressed against his own, and he could feel that his argument was making headway, so he said softly, "Come on, Harry. I won't tell anyone, okay? We can keep it a secret, so it won't get in the way of settling down when you want to. Okay? Just our secret? You and me?" 

Harry lifted his head toward Tom, and his eyes were dark with desire, as Tom leaned down and kissed him again. He captured Harry's tongue, sucking gently, while his hands roamed Harry's hips and ass. 

Then he continued his sales pitch, rather breathlessly. "Look, I won't even do anyone else, Harry, not as long as you and me are making it. Just you. Okay?" 

Harry was feeling dizzy right now, but he thought he'd just heard Tom promising at least a temporary monogamy. Without even meaning to, he whispered, "Okay." 

Tom was maneuvering them toward the bed, nibbling on Harry's throat. Keep him occupied, he thought, don't let him change his mind. Now he gently pushed Harry back onto the bed and began to undress him. First, he knelt down beside the bed and removed Harry's boots, finally giving in to the temptation and kissing Harry's feet. 

Harry laughed faintly, and said, "Tom?" 

Tom slid up beside him. "Hey, I figured you'd gotten used to those women fawning all over you, so maybe I'd better fawn a little, too. What do you think?" 

Harry reached up and pulled Tom against him, kissing him on the lips. "Not really your style, is it, Tom?" 

"Well," Tom panted, "we all change and grow, y'know? Didn't Picasso have a Blue Period? So why can't Paris have a Fawn Period?" 

Harry chuckled. "You're a nut. And right now—" he pushed Tom onto his back, "—you're a nut wearing entirely too much clothing." And the race was on, to see who could get the other undressed first. Tom won. "Aha!" he said triumphantly. "On your face, Kim, your ass is mine." 

Harry gave a delighted gasp, and rolled over. Tom slipped out of his briefs and lay full length on his best friend's back. He nuzzled Harry's neck, and whispered in his ear, "Oh, Harry, it's been too long." 

Harry nodded. It sure had been. 

He closed his eyes now, and felt the warm lips roaming his body, while a slick finger probed and prepared him, giving in to the physical sensation, and the intensity of his love for this man. Nothing else mattered, not right now. 

Tom took position between Harry's spread legs, and thrust into his friend, gasping from the sensation of being sheathed in the tight warm depths. I belong here, Tom thought. He leaned down and kissed Harry on the shoulder, thinking dizzily, I could make a religion out of this, Harry, and worship you forever. 

He bit his lip to prevent his thoughts from escaping into words, afraid of alarming the young man who only wanted him until time to settle down. My friend, he told himself, he's my friend. My dear, beautiful friend. 

He established a smooth rhythm, thrusting and retreating, listening to Harry's moans, barely noticing his own, thinking, for now, for just this moment, you are mine. 

Only one tear actually dropped to Harry's back, where it was lost in the sweat of their joining.

* * *

Harry was smiling in his sleep, but Tom was wide awake, his head on Harry's shoulder, one hand gently stroking Harry's smooth chest. 

Tom was doing something he'd never done before. Long range strategic planning. 

He'd never seen a need for a plan before and laughed off his father's lectures about career planning, and as things turned out, a career plan wasn't necessary after all. Bounced from Star Fleet, he had drifted into various temporary dead end jobs, until he drifted into the Maquis, and from there to prison. Once aboard Voyager, his life had been arranged for him by circumstances, and he had drifted again, doing his job, and leaving the big picture planning to the bosses. 

But he was planning now, looking downstream at the life lying ahead of him, and making resolutions. 

Okay, so when Harry finally picked out the lucky woman and settled down, Tom would back off. 

For a little while. As long as he could, anyway. Maybe he could stay away a year, maybe he could only hold out for six months. But then he'd be back. And he knew he could seduce Harry, he'd just proven that.

If he wanted Harry, and he knew now just HOW much he wanted Harry, he was going to have to settle for being the secret lover. So that's what he'd do. 

Decision made, Tom felt an almost overwhelming urge to drift off to sleep, but he shook it off, and slipped out of the bed. He watched Harry sleeping for a moment, wishing he could rejoin him, and wake up with him in the morning. 

But he dressed himself instead, reminding himself that he'd promised Harry to keep their relationship a secret. And that meant not emerging from the same quarters in the morning. 

Tom tiptoed out of the quarters and down the hall to his own, thinking morosely that secret lovers never got the whole night. It's enough, he kept telling himself. 

It's all I'm going to get, so it's enough.

* * *

The party at the resort was in full swing, and Tom was trying not to watch Harry too closely. He was trying to monitor the situation, trying to determine if Harry was seeming more interested in any one woman than all the others. So far, he didn't seem to be. He ought to just leave it alone, he knew, but he couldn't help wondering, and later in the evening, he couldn't help asking. 

He and Harry were leaning on the bar, watching the dancing, and Tom asked casually, "So. Harry. How are things on the romance front? You don't seem to be actually interested in any of the women we have available here." 

Harry's heart sank. Oh, god, he's getting tired of me already! Trying to sound casual, he said, "Oh, I don't know. That's a pretty big decision, you know. I think of that kind of thing as a lifetime commitment. Why, you trying to push me to the altar?" 

"Who, me?" Tom put on his most innocent look, trying to hide his relief, feeling like he's just gotten a reprieve. "Far be it from me to be pushing anyone to settle down, never saw much point in it myself." 

"Oh, yeah, that's right." Harry stared thoughtfully into his drink. 

"Well, you're probably being smart, Harry," Tom said. "No sense in rushing into anything, right?" 

"Right." 

"Anyway," Tom looked cautiously around, and made sure no one was within earshot, "you've always got a fallback position, none other than T. Paris, your Discreet Nighttime Treat." He leaned over and murmured in Harry's ear. "Contents, one fuck buddy. Take as directed for temporary relief of stiffening of the penis." 

Harry couldn't help laughing at that. Maybe Tom wasn't getting tired of him after all.

* * *

It was a perfectly routine away mission. A grocery trip, of all things! Ensign Kim led Neelix and the rest of shopping party as they wandered through the outdoor marketplace, looking at the exotic fruits and vegetables, and the local citizens, colorful in their thigh high boots. 

But it turned out that the boots were more than a mere fashion statement, as they realized when a small creature resembling a gerbil suddenly darted out from an alley and bit Crewman Ayalla on the knee.

The big Maquis exclaimed angrily, and brushed the pest away, looking down at the spot of blood on his uniform. It seemed like just an inconvenience, and Harry was even joking with Ayalla about the hazards of space travel, when Ayalla suddenly began to push the others away, raving incoherently about his enemies.

It took the entire party to subdue him. And in the melee, no one noticed the second small creature dart into the throng, and Harry never even felt the nip on his calf.

The away team was beamed directly to Sick Bay, and Ayalla was quickly and efficiently sedated by the Emergency Medical Holographic Program. He turned to the team, and said, "Some sort of venom, but nothing too out of the ordinary, I should have a serum developed shortly. Nothing to worry about."

But Ensign Kim was looking at them all suspiciously, backing away and raising the phaser he'd wrested from Ayalla. "You're not going to get me, too!" he exclaimed, before turning and running from the room.


End file.
